


Consulting Avengers

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:39:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Phil Coulson isn't quite sure what he thinks of Mycroft Holmes. He's brilliant, for sure - one of the best analysts SHIELD has access to, only brought in for the most pressing issues. But he's also lazy, condescending, and never does his share of the paperwork. When they're working on a case together, things get complicated when Tony Stark tags along once a business deal in London falls through and winds up meeting Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consulting Avengers

Agent Phil Coulson was tapping happily away at his computer, settling in for another day of blissful civil service when his phone rang. He wrinkled his brow a little in confusion. People didn’t usually call him. They sent him an email or came down to his office in person if it was really important. He picked up the phone.   
“Coulson,” he said with the hint of a question in his voice. 

“Phil,” crooned a low, British voice. “How are you?”

Coulson blinked in surprise a little. “Mr Holmes,” he said. “Nice to hear from you. What, ah... why are you calling me?”

“There’s been a bit of a situation,” Mycroft said enigmatically. “We need you to come to London right away. I’m in the lobby of your... SHIELD offices now. I’m to escort you there now. I’ll see you in five minutes.” And then the line went dead. 

Phil stared at his phone for a good three seconds, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. He scrubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, took a deep breath, and stood. He packed away all the papers and things for the cases and deals he’d been working on into a simple black briefcase and making his way through the vast office building down to the lobby. 

Mycroft saw Coulson before the agent saw him. He smiled. He really did have somewhat of a grudging friendship with the American agent. He was just a touch bumbling, but he was just as clever as some of the little Hawkings and Einsteins running around here. And yet, he was impressionable enough to still be awed when Mycroft or any of the other genius analysts in SHIELD’s employ did something truly remarkable. But above all that, Coulson was capable and good at his job, and he seemed to honestly enjoy his job, which made it all the better. “Agent Coulson!” Mycroft called, swinging off of his signature brolly to wave at the shorter man. “How are you?”

Phil spun to try and make eye contact with Mycroft. He saw him there, standing across the room in one of his impeccable suits that probably would have cost Coulson a year’s salary. He had the greatest respect for Mycroft Holmes. The rumour was that he was both the highest paid and highest ranking analyst SHIELD had access to. But that made sense, if you considered how little of his paperwork he actually did, and the fact that he only got called in on cases of the highest import. Which made the fact that he personally had called little ol’ Phil Coulson down for a case more than a bit worrying. 

“Mr Holmes!” he called as he crossed the room to shake hands with the tall Englishman. “What brings you to New York?”

“A plane,” Mycroft replied smoothly with not a trace of sarcasm in his voice or face. 

Phil floundered a little, not knowing what to do before Mycroft cracked a smile. “Agent Coulson,” he greeted much more warmly. “Don’t worry. We simply require your assistance on a case of a rather... delicate nature.”

Phil was about to open his mouth and inquire further when he saw why that wasn’t necessary. Strolling through the lobby of the New York SHIELD headquarters was Tony Stark, better known to most as Iron Man. 

“Please, no pictures,” he said to the exactly no people trying to take his photograph. He sauntered up to the two men. “Mr Holmes. Dead man walking,” he greeted in turn.   
Mycroft turned up a corner of his mouth in a sneer. “Yes, well,” he said, a polite British way of saying, “That was incredibly rude you little twat, fuck you.”

Tony gave him a little smile, just in case everyone wasn’t already aware of just how self confident he was. “Right then,” he said, clapping his hands. “What are we doing?”

Mycroft visibly bristled at his raucous, overly /American/ swaggering behaviour. God, it was annoying. “We are all going to fly to London and close out a business deal. Mr Stark, Agent Coulson, right this way.” He led them to where a small posse of bodyguards was waiting to escort them onto the private plane that Mycroft so conveniently had lying around. When Coulson asked him about it later, he stared blankly at him for a moment. “You think I’d fly commercial?” he scoffed and turned away to look out the window, sipping his champagne elegantly.

“So why are we bringing him along?” Coulson hissed at Mycroft as they crossed the tarmac to board the plane. Mycroft smirked and paused a moment, pretending to be thinking. “Because it helps to have a couple of mad geniuses to throw at problems,” he answered, smirking a little. Did he include himself in the ‘mad genius’ category? Probably. 

“Guys!” Tony chirped on their second night in London as he joined them in the hotel restaurant, mysterious stranger in tow. “Look who I met!” 

Sherlock Holmes appeared at his side, looking mightily annoyed. He’d been trying to have a coffee and relax a little after a case on a rare sunny day at one of his favourite cafes in London when this loud, brash American man decided to sit across from him and engage him in some sort of inane conversation. Somehow, and he still wasn’t entirely sure on this, he’d ended up in a car and back here at this hotel, the man still gripping his hand tightly. He was pretty sure the man had tried to flirt with him at several points, and he had vehemently turned down all of those attempts. But his eyes widened a little when he saw his brother sitting across the table he seemed to be sitting at. When had that happened? He shook his head, trying to clear it. The loud tones and swaggering ego nearly equal (or perhaps exceeding) his own was giving him a headache. 

Mycroft had the decency to look a bit surprised when Tony dragged Sherlock into the restaurant and unceremoniously tossed him in a chair. “Brother,” he said. “What brings you here?”

Sherlock looked up with an expression of infinite suffering and pointed an accusing finger at Tony. “That,” he deadpanned. 

Coulson rolled his eyes. What was it with these two and their damn snark? Between Stark and the Holmes brothers, the whole restaurant might just explode from the levels of repressed laughter and sarcasm. 

A silent waiter brought all four men a delicious, four course meal, but none of them besides Phil even tasted it. They were all too concerned staring each other down, trying to prove their intellectual dominance with the perfect raised eyebrow or the corner of a mouth quirked up just right. 

After the second course, Tony sat back with his hands laced over his stomach. Sherlock smirked over at Mycroft.   
“Are you sure this doesn’t ruin your diet, brother?” he quipped, an expression of false innocence and concern plastered across his face. 

Mycroft gave Sherlock what was quite possibly the fakest and most barely hidden ‘fuck you’ smile ever. “It’s going quite well, Sherlock, thank you for your concern.”

Sherlock had to really work to control his face. “Of course, Mycroft. Just looking out for you, as always.”

You could cut the tension with a knife, and Tony Stark was always up to that challenge. “Anyways,” he began, launching into a very deep and theoretical conversation that deeply fascinated Sherlock. By the end of the meal, Tony and Sherlock were fast friends, and they were laughing and joking together like they’d known each other for years. 

“Sherlock, I’ve got an extra bed in my room,” Tony said. “Would you like me to take you back to your flat, or...”

“I’ll stay,” Sherlock said quickly. “I want to talk to you some more about that ARC reactor.”

Tony grinned widely. “Perfect! Because I would love to pick your brains some more about your research into apiology...” And the two men went off together, fast friends to talk science all night long, over tea for Sherlock and likely something significantly stronger for Tony. 

Phil sat back from the table, watching them go and shaking his head. God, Mycroft wasn’t kidding about mad geniuses together. They just fed off of each other’s energy, creating something very dangerous and not very easy to control. 

Mycroft smiled across the table at Phil. He still looked a bit at ease. Yes, it was true; he wasn’t exactly among equals here. Mycroft, Sherlock, and Tony could easily run circles around Agent Coulson without even trying. But there it is again, that flash of bright intelligence and sparking loyalty in the man’s eyes. It’s rather endearing, to be honest. How devoted he is to his job, to his agency, is truly remarkable and to be lauded. Mycroft orders a round of drinks, deducing (correctly of course) what kind of drink Phil would prefer.   
Phil started to open his mouth to give his order, but Mycroft stole the words right from his mouth. He sighed and sat back. He needed to discuss the case, the deal he’d flown all the way from London to help deal with. Over sinfully expensive drinks (which Phil was just glad he wasn’t paying for) they worked out how they were going to deal with the particularly reticent arms dealer they were dealing with. 

Phil and Mycroft made their way back to their separate rooms as the night grew later; knowing they both had to get up at some ungodly early hour in the morning.   
“You know, we still haven’t worked out exactly how we’re going to close that business deal tomorrow,” noted Phil as he unlocked and opened the door to his room.   
“But ah,” replied Mycroft enigmatically, opening his own door, “But now we have /two/ mad geniuses to throw at our problem. And that makes all the difference.”


End file.
